PS 3531 

.058 ns 

1922 
Copy 1 





A 

Mystic 

Singer 

of 

the 

Plains 




By 
John Poore 



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A 

Mystic 

Singer 

of 

the 

Plains 



By 

John Poore 



Copyright April 28, 1922 
By John Poore 



Pawnee Printing Company 
Larned. Kansas 











m 27 1S22 



A 

Mystic 

Singer 

of 

the 

Plains 




FINE, cool morn- 
ing in September— 
the soft, southwest 
wind bended the prairie 
grass until the tips of the 
blades kissed the earth — 
paying homage to their 
mother. 




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The ranchers and cow 
boys had planned a 
coyote hunt and the 
above morning was ac- 
cepted without comment; 
they wanted to hunt. 

They were riding on a 
high, smooth plateau, 
which gradually verged 
to hills on the west. Scat- 
tered promiscuously in 
front of them were sev- 
eral cur dogs and three or 
four grey hounds to flush 
the common enemy from 
his hiding place. The 
wind, blowing out of the 



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southwest, carried to the 
hunters the sound of the 
chase. The keen yelp of 
a fice as he dislodged a 
jack rabbit from its nest 
—only to pursue it franti- 
cally for a few hundred 
yards — when his dog esti- 
mate of speed convinced 
him that he could ne'er 
overtake that flying grey 
streak. 

Scraps of conversation 
could be heard with once 
in a while a loud laugh. 
Sounds carry to a great 
distance on the light, clear 



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atmosphere of the prairie. 
This wide semi-circle of 
riders, mounted on vari- 
ous colored bronchos, 
with red bandannas knot- 
ted about strong throats 
and flapping in the breeze 
along with the other trap- 
pings which belongs to 
the dress of the cow boy, 
made a picture with 
which any artist who 
loves the wild and free 
life would have been de- 
lighted. 

They were within a 
couple of miles of the 



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highest hills in that part 
of the country, when 
above all the noise of 
squeaking saddles, and 
champing of bridle bits, 
yelping of dogs, laughing 
and talking, at intervals 
another sound could be 
heard, but not strong 
enough at first to attract 
the attention of all the 
hunters. 

After advancing in this 
manner for a quarter of a 
mile or more, the sound 
became more distinct and 
a rider here and there 



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along the line would stop 
his broncho, listen intent- 
ly for the fraction of a 
minute, glance anxiously 
about at his fellow hunt- 
ers, to see if they had 
heard the unusual sound, 
then ride slowly forward. 
As they approached 
the base of the hiU, the 
restlessness of the men 
as well as of the horses 
was apparent, for the 
sound, which at first had 
only been sensed by a 
few, could now be heard 

by all. 
As they ascended the 





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side of the hill they were 
met^by the vanguard of 
returning curs and grey 
hounds with tails tucked 
between their legs. Fear 
had assailed them and 
they were rushing to their 
masters for protection. 

A wild, weird tone 
v/hich filled all surround- 
ing space, and v/hich 
came from the top of the 
hill, tightened for an in- 
stant every muscular 
hand on the reins of the 
bronchos who were snort- 
ing and plunging. 

The next moment every 



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man gave spur to his 
horse and they reached 
the brow of the hill on 
the dead run. The top of 
the hill was flat and 
covered about a half- 
acre in extent. When the 
riders in their head-long 
dash reached the edge of 
this small plateau horses 
were jerked to their 
haunches and with wide, 
staring eyes man and 
beast beheld the form of 
a great man lying prone 
on his back near the 
center of the plateau. 
Life seemed extinct in 



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the huge body. Horses 
and riders stood at gaze 
like so many statues, with 
no word of comment. 
Thus perplexed, they saw 
the man slowly rise to a 
sitting position, and heard 
from his big, bronzed 
throat the same wild tone 
that had thrown the 
hunters into disorder 
shortly before. 

Confusion reigned, for 
some of the bronchos 
broke and ran madly 
down the hill, while 
others stood and trem- 
bled. The men, having 



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lived the primitive life 
like the bronchos, were 
somewhat similarly af- 
fected, but the tone— so 
wild, so free, exhilarated 
the hearts of the more 
primitive of the hunters. 
A quarter-blood Indian 
cow boy responded to the 
tone, which suggested to 
him unlimited spaces, the 
eternal hills and vast 
mountains, by yelling 
with all the power of his 
lungs and at the same 
time rapidly firing his six- 
shooter. Whether the 
yelling of the Indian cow 



Page Ten 



boy or the firing of the 
forty-four aroused the 
man to the fact of their 
presence, they knew not, 
but he arose to a stand- 
ing position. 

And such a man! Well 
proportioned, but a verit- 
able giant. Standing 
there in semi-nakedness, 
head held high and look- 
ing not at the hunters, 
but into the misty dis- 
tance, he was impressive, 
powerful and physically 
perfect. To those of the 
hunters who believed in 
muscular decisions, he 



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inspired instant admira- 
tion. To the one or two 
college bred men among 
the numbers he was to 
their sense of sight a 
great mythological Greek 
god with bulging muscles, 
but to their sense of 
sound a voice divine. 
Thus the different minds 
sized up this great ap- 
parition that had wan- 
dered, they knew not 
from where, out of the 
hills and mountains to 
the West. 

The man had scarcley 
changed position, but 



Page Twelve 



standing there with large 
eyes looking outward, 
commenced to sing, or 
rather vocalize. He ut- 
tered no words, but the 
meaning of the tones 
were plain as English. It 
was the music of the big, 
open places, of immense 
forests — it was a univers- 
al song of the wild — and 
the voice, singing high or 
low, loud or soft, each 
tone was full and round. 
The volume of the 
voice seemed to fill the 
whole prairie and echoed 
to them from the hills. 






Page Thirteen 



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until the song of the wild 
came to their ears from 
every quarter. The effect 
of the primitive sound on 
the quarter blood Indian 
cow boy was instantane- 
ous, for he had thrown 
his hat on the ground, 
torn his shirt open, and 
his naked breast was 
heaving with savage 
emotion as he chanted in 
an undertone songs his 
forefathers had sung 
many moons before the 
white man came to their 
hunting grounds. 
To others of the hunters 



Page Fourteen 



who were nomads at 
heart, the effect of the 
vocalizing told on their 
features and in their ac- 
tions. Some had remov- 
ed their hats and were 
staring at the singer as if 
viewing a panorama of 
their ancestors who had 
wandered free and bold 
over the earth in ages 
past, living and loving 
where they listed. One 
of the cow boys had 
pulled his gun—as they 
often do in times of ex- 
citement — and stood with 
blanched face, eyes rivet- 



Page Fifteen 



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ed on the singer, revolver 
pointed at the horizon, as 
though he would shoot a 
hole in the dimness of the 
distance through which 
his agonized feelings 
might escape. To the 
college men such a spec- 
tacle was nothing short 
of terrible— it exceeded 
their comprehension. To 
the man refined, all 
things primitive are more 
or less unexplicable. 

The great man tottered, 
righted himself and once 
more began to vocalize. 
This time the big, solemn 



Page Sixteen 



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tones pictured the sor- 
rows of humanity. In the 
variations of the vocaliz- 
ing one could detect the 
scream of the bereft 
widow, the wailing of the 
orphan, and the guttural 
moan of the man who 
dies in agony. It was the 
song of eternal sorrow — 
the great medley which 
goes up from the earth, 
and reaching the high 
heavens, informs the 
Master how little we un- 
derstand the Way. 

Tears were on the 
bronzed cheeks of the 



Page Seventeen 




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cow boys, for the man 
was singing of that which 
they all knew — the stern 
drama of life. 

Pausing a moment, he 
raised his hands in sup- 
plication, and the song, 
or tone picture, was of 
the great love the Father 
has for His children. Out 
over the prairie drifted 
the beautiful voice of the 
singer carrying the as- 
surance of the hereafter 
to the plainsmen. Hope 
brightened the counte- 
nance of the ranchers and 
cow boys for they real- 



Page Eighteen 








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ized the message of the 
Master had been con- 
veyed to them through 
the wonderful voice of 
the singer. 

The giant staggered 
and fell to the ground; he 
was dying while the 
hunters had been listen- 
ing. They went to assist 
him, but he was dead. 

They quietly and gently 
buried him— the Master's 
materialization of life and 
the hope beyond — with 
the music of the ages in 
his breast. 

Departing for their dif- 



Page Nineteen 



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ferent ranches they were 
filled with awe and 
wonder over the message 
they had received from 
the voice that came to 
them out of the Golden 
West. 



Page Twenty 



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